


we are all just stars that have people names

by splendidlyimperfect



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canon Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Fluff and Angst, Holding Hands, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, Short & Sweet, Stargazing, They're both adorable dorks, Zuko's got baggage and Sokka wants to help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23636521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Sokka finds out how Zuko got his scar.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 2036





	we are all just stars that have people names

**Author's Note:**

> I just rewatched Avatar and had a lot of feelings about Zuko, so of course I had to write fic about it. It's my first one for this fandom so hopefully you enjoy! 
> 
> Title from the poem '93 Percent Stardust' by Nikita Gill.

Sokka can’t sleep. 

It’s not like this is something new, but it’s getting really goddamn annoying to close his eyes every night and stare at the inside of his eyelids until eventually he gives up and goes to look at the stars. Every time he thinks he’s ready to fall asleep, his mind starts running in circles again – the war, his father, the failed attack, guilt, guilt, guilt. 

At least the stars are pretty. He’s found a new place to watch them from – a little outcropping that hangs out over the vast expanse of the ocean. It’s tall and terrifying, and being up here makes Sokka feel significant, somehow. 

He’s lying on his back, staring up at the constellations, when he hears rustling in the bushes behind him. He’s immediately on edge, boomerang in hand, crouched and ready to attack. 

“It’s just me.” It’s Zuko’s voice, and Sokka relaxes. A month ago, he would have kept his guard up and reminded Zuko about what a jerk he was. But Zuko’s been nothing but kind (and honestly kind of adorably awkward) since he joined them, so Sokka’s pretty sure he’s not about to be pushed off the cliff. 

“What are you doing up here?” Sokka asks. It’s meant to sound like a demand, but it comes across as curious. 

“What are _you_ doing up here?” Zuko replies. He crosses his arms over his chest, then drops them to his sides, then moves them in front of him like he’s not quite sure where they should go. “I come out here every night.” 

“Oh.” Sokka scoots over and gestures to the ground next to him. “I didn’t know, sorry.” 

Zuko shrugs, moving cautiously toward Sokka and settling down on the grass. Sokka studies the scar that covers half of his face – ridged and red, interrupting Zuko’s otherwise smooth, fair skin. Then he realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away, focusing on the starry sky instead. 

“It’s okay,” Zuko says quietly, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He glances at Sokka, then gestures to his face. “Everyone stares.” 

“I didn’t—that’s not what...” Sokka puts his hands up defensively, then sighs and drops them. “Sorry.” 

Zuko shrugs. “I know it’s ugly.” 

“It isn’t,” Sokka says quickly. Zuko makes a face like he’s raising an eyebrow, except he doesn’t have an eyebrow on that side, just marred, red skin. “It’s badass.” 

“Badass,” Zuko says slowly, then shakes his head and rests his chin on his knees. 

“Yeah,” Sokka says, crossing his legs under him. “Scars are cool. I got a sweet one when I fought off a dolphin piranha that attacked our fishing boat one time. Check it out!” 

By the time embarrassment catches up with him, he’s already pulled up his shirt to show Zuko the round, bite-shaped scar just below his ribs. He sits there for a second, cheeks pink as Zuko stares at him, then quickly tugs his shirt back down and crosses his arms over his stomach. 

“I don’t like my scars,” Zuko says quietly. He doesn’t elaborate, just stares up at the stars. 

Sokka’s brain takes too long to catch up to his mouth, so before he can think better of it, he asks, “How’d you get it?” Zuko’s shoulders tense and Sokka mentally smacks himself. “Sorry, that’s not my—” 

“My dad,” Zuko says. 

The words sink in slowly, like they’re filtering through water, or in another language. 

“Your... what?” 

“My dad,” Zuko repeats, voice flat. 

“That... how...” Sokka stammers, hands moving uncertainly in front of him. 

“I spoke out of turn and he challenged me to an Agni Kai – a firebending duel.” Zuko’s voice is flat and something uncomfortable twists in Sokka’s stomach. “I didn’t want to fight him, so he...” He gestures to his face. 

“What?” Sokka says, and he knows it’s not the right thing to say, but his mind is stuck on _my dad burned my face._ “How old were—” 

“Thirteen.” 

The silence that hangs around them is thick and uncomfortable, and Sokka feels like he can’t quite breathe. He thinks of his own father, of him teaching Sokka to fish, of hugs and laughter and stories under the sky. 

No wonder Zuko’s so angry all the time. 

“I’m sorry,” Sokka says eventually, because there’s really nothing else to say. Zuko shrugs, and Sokka’s brain finally catches up to the earlier part of the conversation. “Wait, scars? Plural?” 

“Mm.” 

“From... your dad?” 

Zuko tips his head noncommittally and suddenly Sokka feels way, way out of his depth. He’s never been good with emotional conversations – that's what Katara is for. Sokka’s just the funny one. But Katara isn’t here, and Sokka is, and Zuko’s trusting him. 

“Do you... wanna talk about it?” Sokka says eventually. His voice feels out of place in the soft night air – there's nothing around them but trees and the stars and the dark. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Zuko says, playing with a loose thread at the bottom of his pants. “It happened. He’s awful, and I’m...” He swallows. “I’m trying to be better than him. I know you don’t trust me, but—” 

“I do.” The words surprise Sokka, but he quickly realizes that they’re true. Thinking about the pain Zuko’s gone through is enough to make everything slowly start to make sense. “You aren’t your dad.” 

“I hurt people.” 

“People hurt you.” 

“That’s not an excuse.” Zuko says, and he somehow manages to sound grown up and like a small child at the same time. There’s a softness to his words that make it far too easy for Sokka to picture him as a scared little boy. 

“Maybe not,” Sokka admits, and before he can stop himself, he shifts a bit closer to Zuko. “But you’re helping now. Doing the right thing, y’know?” 

“Mm.” Zuko sighs, then flops onto his back, staring up at the stars. A strange sense of longing stirs in Sokka – a desire to somehow make this better even though he has no idea how. 

He shuffles down next to Zuko, very conscious of how close they are. Zuko doesn’t move, so Sokka follows his gaze upward and searches the constellations until he finds the one he’s looking for. 

“See those three in a row?” he says, pointing at a group of bright stars not far from the moon. The movement of his arm brushes his shoulder against Zuko’s. “That’s my favorite one – Nunki.” 

Zuko frowns. “Uncle always...” He hesitates, shaking his head. “He said it was the Mulu-izi.” 

“Huh.” Sokka drops his arm but doesn’t move awake from Zuko. He’s sure he’s imagining it, but it feels like Zuko’s leaning against him, just a little. “I guess everyone has different names for them. What does... Mulu...” 

“Mulu-izi.” 

“What does it mean?” 

Zuko sighs, and this time Sokka’s sure he’s moved just a little bit closer. Their knees are touching now, and Zuko is so warm against him. “The lost child,” Zuko says quietly. 

“Oh.” Sokka doesn’t say anything for a second, just listens to Zuko’s quiet breathing and the sound of the waves crashing against the cliff, hundreds of feet below them. 

“What does ‘Nunki’ mean?” Zuko asks eventually. 

“The Heart of the Ocean,” Sokka says. “My dad said it guides sailors away from danger. It shows them the...” He hesitates, trying to remember the way his dad had phrased it when he was little, sitting on his father’s lap in the middle of the night and staring up at the sky. “The true path,” he says. “Like... the way out of darkness, or something.” 

“Very eloquent,” Zuko says, and Sokka can hear a tiny hint of a smile in his voice. 

“Shut up,” Sokka grumbles, nudging Zuko with his shoulder. Zuko retaliates by kicking his ankle, and then they both move to shove at each other at the same time and their hands touch. 

Sokka’s breath catches. He feels like he’s been shocked, and he’s immediately glad that it’s dark enough that Zuko can’t see the redness that rushes to his cheeks. He’s about to yank his hand away when he feels the tentative brush of Zuko’s knuckles against his – purposeful this time, not an accident in the dark. 

For some reason, instead of pulling his hand away, he returns the touch, stomach twisting at Zuko’s soft exhale. They don’t move for a second, and then somehow their fingers slide together, and they both move until their joined hands are resting against Zuko’s bent leg. 

A charged silence fills the air and Sokka isn’t sure what any of this means, but it feels right, somehow. He tips his head against Zuko’s and gestures up at the sky again with his other hand. 

“What’s that one called?” he asks, voice surprisingly steady. 

“Szak-khash,” Zuko replies, and before Sokka can ask him what it means, he squeezes Sokka’s hand and says, “A New Beginning.” 

**Author's Note:**

> **93 percent stardust**
> 
> We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins,  
> carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains.  
> 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames,  
> we are all just stars that have people names. 
> 
> -nikita gill


End file.
